Have you ever missed your exit on the interstate?
Larry, my late older brother, loved to tell a story about a time he and my sister, Ann, were driving to visit our parents. Ann was behind the wheel while my brother slept in the passenger seat. She didn’t want to wake him, even though she realized something wasn’t right, so she kept driving.
Eventually, she woke our brother and said, “I think we’re lost.”
Larry looked around and quickly realized they weren’t just a few miles off course. They were in a state they had never intended to enter.
The problem wasn’t that the car had stopped moving. It was moving just fine. The problem wasn’t that Ann wasn’t a good driver. She is a safe and conscientious driver. The problem was that somewhere back along the highway, they missed the right exit.
I suspect most of us have had a similar experience. I know I have. We become distracted. We assume we’re headed in the right direction. We keep making progress. Then one day, we realize we’re not where we intended to be.
This week, we come to one of the most familiar phrases in the Declaration of Independence: “Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of Happiness.”
The Declaration doesn’t guarantee happiness. It protects our freedom to pursue it. Which raises an important question. What are we pursuing?
Every day, our culture points us toward another exit. “This is what will make you happy.” “This is what you’ve been missing.” “If you can just get here, then you’ll finally be satisfied.”
Before taking another exit, it might be wise to ask yourself a simple question: Check your exit.
An interstate is full of exits. Life is too. But, not every exit leads where we hope. Also, have you ever noticed how quickly yesterday’s dream can become today’s disappointment?
We work hard for something we’ve wanted for months, sometimes years. We save our money. We anticipate the day it finally becomes ours. A new vehicle. A larger home. A promotion. A new phone. A long-awaited vacation.
For a while, we’re excited. We should be. There is nothing wrong with enjoying life’s blessings.
But then something happens. The excitement begins to fade. Before long, we’re looking toward the next purchase, the next accomplishment, the next goal, the next thing that promises to make life complete.
Most of us have lived that story.
It’s one reason advertisers spend billions of dollars every year convincing us that happiness is just one more exit down the road. If only we had a little more. A little newer. A little bigger. A little more impressive. We keep driving because the next exit promises what the last one couldn’t deliver.
That same pursuit plays out on a much larger stage.
One of the most visible stories in our country this week has centered on the Lincoln Memorial Reflecting Pool. A place designed to invite reflection has instead become the subject of intense public attention and controversy. Whether people applaud the effort or criticize it isn’t really my point.
What strikes me is the irony.
A reflecting pool is meant to help us see something larger than ourselves. Instead, it has become another reminder of how easily our attention can be captured by appearances, projects, and the pursuit of something bigger, grander, or more impressive.
Perhaps that’s our problem.
We become so focused on the next attraction, the next achievement, the next promise of happiness that we forget to ask where the road is taking us.
It’s easy to forget to check your exit.
Perhaps that’s why so many pursuits leave us unsatisfied. It’s possible to spend our lives taking exit after exit, always believing the next one will finally bring the happiness we’ve been searching for.
The Declaration of Independence protects our freedom to pursue happiness. But it wisely leaves another question unanswered.
Where is happiness actually found?
Perhaps that’s why the story of the Lincoln Memorial Reflecting Pool has captured so much attention.
A reflecting pool has one purpose: to reflect. It draws our eyes beyond itself. We see the Washington Monument stretching toward the sky. We see the Lincoln Memorial standing as a reminder of a nation still striving toward its highest ideals. Sometimes, if we look carefully enough, we even see ourselves.
Maybe that’s why this week’s story has lingered in my mind. It raises a question far more important than the future of a reflecting pool.
What are we reflecting?
That is hardly a new question. More than six hundred years before the birth of Jesus, the prophet Jeremiah watched Judah’s leaders pursue grand projects while neglecting justice. God challenged King Jehoiakim through the prophet: “Your father gave the poor and needy their rights, and all went well for him. That is what it means to know me.” (Jeremiah 22:16)
Jeremiah reminds us that greatness is not measured by what we build, but by whether people flourish because of our leadership.
Not long afterward, t he prophet Ezekiel confronted Israel’s shepherds. A common metaphor, in scripture, for the nation’s political and religious leaders. Rather than caring for the weak, healing the sick, or seeking the lost, they had used their positions for their own benefit. Their leadership reflected self-interest instead of God’s compassion.
Reading those ancient prophets, it’s difficult not to recognize why so many people today feel unsettled. We know something isn’t quite right. We see it in the headlines. We hear it in our conversations.
We even catch glimpses of it in recent elections, where many voters seem to be searching for a different kind of leadership. Whatever our political views, that longing itself tells us something important. Human beings instinctively hunger for leaders who help people flourish.
That brings us to Jesus.
Jesus heals a man who had been blind since birth. Instead of celebrating, the religious leaders interrogated him, pressured his parents, and eventually drove him from the synagogue.
Like the prophets before Him, Jesus also talked about shepherds. “The thief comes only in order to steal, kill, and destroy,” He says. “I have come in order that you might have life—life in all its fullness.” (John 10:10)
Jesus doesn’t simply expose what false shepherds do. He reveals what God’s leadership looks like.
The thief comes only in order to steal, kill, and destroy. I have come in order that you might have life—life in all its fullness.
John 10:10
If the road you’re traveling steals life, divides people, or leaves your neighbors behind… Check your exit.
Where others take life, Jesus gives it. Where others divide, Jesus restores. Where others pursue themselves, Jesus pursues us.
The Declaration of Independence protects our freedom to pursue happiness.
Jesus shows us what that pursuit has been pointing toward all along: not a life centered on ourselves, but a life lived in all its fullness.
Several years ago, our congregation explored the ideas found in a book titled The Abundant Community by John McKnight and Peter Block. We didn’t simply read the book. We practiced it. Together, we learned to see our neighborhood differently.
Most communities are taught to begin with a simple question: “What’s wrong here?” Professor McKnight and community organizer, Peter Block, suggested a better one: “What capabilities are already here?”
It’s a remarkably hopeful way to see the world. Instead of beginning with problems, begin with people. Instead of focusing on deficiencies, discover gifts. Instead of asking what we lack, ask what God has already placed among us.
That vision sounds remarkably like the life Jesus describes.
Life in all its fullness isn’t measured by how much we accumulate for ourselves. It grows as we discover our gifts, share them generously, and help others discover theirs.
That’s true for individuals. It’s true for churches. It’s true for communities. And it’s true for nations. The pursuit of happiness isn’t ultimately about getting more. It’s about becoming more fully alive together.
Every day we choose which exits to take. Some exits promise success but leave us isolated. Some promise security but leave us fearful. Some promise greatness but leave our neighbors behind.
Jesus points us toward another road altogether—a road where our lives become a gift to others. Perhaps that’s what happiness has been pointing toward all along.
Sooner or later, every interstate traveler comes to another exit. Some lead to restaurants. Some to gas stations. Some to rest areas. Some lead us home.
Life is much the same. Every day, we make choices about what we will pursue, what will shape us, and ultimately what our lives will reflect.
The Declaration of Independence wisely protects our freedom to pursue happiness.
Jesus invites us to pursue something even deeper. Life. Not merely existence. Not endless consumption. Not the next possession, promotion, or public recognition. But, life in all its fullness.
Perhaps that’s why the prophets called leaders to seek justice before monuments. Perhaps that’s why Jesus called himself the Good Shepherd instead of a king. And perhaps that’s why the greatest joy we will ever experience isn’t found in asking, “What can I get next?”
It’s found in asking, “Whose life can I help flourish?”
May our lives reflect the One who came not to steal, kill, or destroy, but to give life. And when the next exit appears, may we have the wisdom—and the courage—to choose the one that leads there.
The Declaration protects our freedom to pursue happiness. Jesus shows us where life is found.
Before you follow another promise…Before you just keep driving…Check your exit.
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This article is part of a weekly newsletter called the Circuit Rider. You can request this publication by email by sending a request to FlintAsburyUMC@gmail.com, or let us know when you send a message through our website. We post an archive of past editions on our website under Connect – choose Newsletters.
Pastor Tommy
The series concept and some content come from Walter Isaacson. The Greatest Sentence Ever Written. NY: Simon & Schuster, 2025.